


First Aid

by glorious_spoon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fist Fights, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Rescue, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: “At some point,” Steve said, digging in his pocket and coming up with a crumpled wad of napkins, which he shoved at Dustin. “I’m going to have to teach you how to throw a punch.”





	First Aid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



“At some point,” Steve said, digging in his pocket and coming up with a crumpled wad of napkins, which he shoved at Dustin. “I’m going to have to teach you how to throw a punch.”

Dustin scowled, but he took the napkins and dabbed gingerly at his nose. It was gushing blood all over his mouth and chin and brand new t-shirt and it felt like it was approximately three times the size it was supposed to be. Shit. At least he didn’t have to go to school looking like this tomorrow, although the rest of the Party was definitely going to give him the third degree when he showed up at the arcade. Maybe he’d just skip it this time. Tell them all that he was out of town for a impromptu family trip and hide in his room for the next week. Yeah, that was a great plan. “I’m pretty sure you’re the last person who’s qualified to teach me how to throw a punch.”

Steve actually had the gall to look offended at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re not really—” Dustin made a vague gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding a wad of bloody napkins stamped with cheerful pink ice cream cones. “You know. Good at it?”

Steve folded his arms and glared at him. It was a glare that probably would have made Dustin quail a few years ago, back when Steve was just a vaguely intimidating high school presence who only entered Dustin’s orbit when he stopped by the Wheeler house to pick Nancy up in his cool-guy car. It didn’t work nearly as well when Steve was still wearing his uniform shirt from Scoops Ahoy, although at least he’d taken the paper hat off. Or possibly lost it in the fight; Dustin was a little unclear on how everything had gone down after his face’s violent introduction to the brick wall. He might possibly be slightly concussed. Just slightly.

“Sorry,” he added, somewhat sincerely. There was still a trickle of blood coming out of his left nostril, and his voice sounded kind of clogged, like he’d been crying. Which he hadn’t, shut _up_. His eyes were just watering a little, which was totally normal considering that he probably had, like, a broken nose or something.

Whatever the reason, Steve’s expression softened. He folded his long frame down until he was sitting against the wall next to Dustin. Fortunately, they were on the far side of the mall, which wasn’t too busy at 10:30 on a Monday morning; their only company was a handful of seagulls pecking at some dubious-looking trash out in the parking lot and a pair of Lycra-clad joggers with their headphones on passing by, sneakered feet slapping at the pavement and faces serene, oblivious to their small-scale drama playing out next to the Sears entrance. “You need to tilt your head forward, pinch your nostrils together. It’ll help stop the bleeding.”

“I _am_ ,” Dustin said, although he wasn’t. Pinching his nose hurt, okay. More than it already hurt, which was a lot.

“You’re gonna get blood in your sinuses that way,” Steve said, sounding exasperated, and then his hand was on the back of Dustin’s neck, gently pushing his head down. Resistance would have been futile, clearly, so Dustin didn’t even try. “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

“You have gotten punched in the face a lot,” Dustin allowed.

“Funny.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Seriously, man, what did you do to those guys to piss them off that bad?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dustin mumbled, which was at least sixty-five percent true, unless you counted that little thing with the chem lab, which was totally not his fault anyway. “They’re assholes. And I had it under control, anyway, you don’t always have to—”

“Right,” Steve snorted. “Because I’m just going to walk away and let you get your face pounded.”

“I _had it under control_.”

“Uh, bullshit,” Steve said. It would have been a lot easier to get pissed about his dismissive tone if his palm wasn’t still settled on the back of Dustin’s neck, a warm steady weight. Out of the corner of his eye, Dustin could see Steve’s right hand resting on his knee. The knuckles were starting to bruise. Dustin had a vague memory of Steve’s fist connecting hard with the side of Evan McKennick’s head as he hauled back to punch Dustin again, but it was all kind of hazy.

What wasn’t hazy was the fact that Evan and his fellow goons were gone, and Steve was here. So that was good. Ish.

Okay, mostly it was embarrassing, but he was grateful that he wasn’t still getting his face pounded, which--he reluctantly admitted, at least in the privacy of his own head--probably wouldn’t have been the case without Steve’s timely intervention.

“Thanks,” he mumbled eventually, pulling the wad of napkins away again. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, at least.

Steve patted his neck. “No problem. How’s your nose?”

“Oh, it’s peachy. What do you think?”

“Is it _broken_ , dumbass?”

Dustin prodded at it carefully, winced, and dropped his hand. “I don’t think so?”

“Okay, good.” Steve patted the back of his neck again, scruffed a hand gently through his hair, then pulled away before Dustin could slap at him. “What happened to your bike?”

“I walked.”

“Okay,” Steve said again, pushing himself up to his feet. He pushed his hair out of his face, then reached down to give Dustin a hand up. “Come on. I’m giving you a ride home.”

“It’s like three blocks away, Steve, I’m not twelve.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said, in the tone of voice that meant he wasn’t really listening to Dustin at all. “And I don’t want to have to rescue your ass _again_ this morning if those guys decide to jump you outside the parking lot, so come on.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?”

“I did the opening shift, I’m done for the day. Let’s go.”

Dustin considered trying to dig his heels in, but while Steve could be a real pushover sometimes, the expression on his face just then was that calmly stubborn one that meant that arguing with him would be about as useful as talking to a brick wall. And he was, maybe just slightly, _minutely_ concerned about Evan lying in wait for him out past the mall signs on one of those little side-streets where there were no witnesses to intervene. He tossed the balled-up wad of napkins in the direction of the garbage can by the door. “Fine.” And then, grudgingly, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said cheerfully. He slung an arm around Dustin’s shoulders as they started across the pavement toward the far side where the mall employees parked, jostling him companionably, and Dustin didn’t shove him away.


End file.
